


No Vacancy

by 60r3d0m



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet Ending, Bottom Castiel, Canon Compliant, Caretaker Dean, Episode: s09e06 Heaven Can't Wait, First Kiss, First Time, Human Castiel, Hurt Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, It's the canon ending where Dean drops Cas off at the Gas-N-Sip the next morning and they part ways, M/M, Sad Ending, Sexual Content, Sharing a Bed, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2017-08-06
Packaged: 2018-12-11 17:02:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11718666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/60r3d0m/pseuds/60r3d0m
Summary: The shower water’s ice cold but the sweat and grime on his body is enough to make him stay.For a long time, he holds Dean’s borrowed shorts in his hands. He turns them over, feels the fabric worn soft with age. They’re favoured shorts. Slept in often because they’re comfortable and loved and maybe echo of home.Something that Cas doesn’t have.After the Rit Zien attacks Cas at Nora's house, Dean takes him to his motel room to treat his injuries.He ends up staying the night.(or in other words, the very famous fanfiction gap of 9.06 Heaven Can't Wait)





	No Vacancy

**Author's Note:**

> I've been feeling kind of nostalgic about Supernatural lately and keep longing to do a re-watch (this hiatus feels a lot longer than usual). Mostly I can't wait for S13 and cheated my way by watching a few clips and...well, then of course I couldn't help but write a oneshot.

_Where to, Cas?_

It’s what Dean asks him after Nora’s house. It’s what Dean thinks of, as Casti—as _Cas_ stands in front of the Impala, clutching his injured wrist and wondering how he’ll be able to work his job at the Gas-N-Sip tomorrow morning—how he’ll be able to earn enough to feed himself for the rest of the week until he gets his paycheck (because money runs out too fast, Cas has learned, and he doesn’t want to ask Dean for more).

He doesn’t know how he’ll be able to do it.

His wrist is throbbing too hard.

So he doesn’t say anything.

 

 

 

 

Maybe the weeks that Cas has been mindlessly working the till have morphed Dean in Cas’ mind into someone more selfish than he really is. Somewhere in that time, Dean has become a bitter unsatisfying memory that is hard to look at. But that image shatters when he's right there, close enough to touch. When Dean grins at him, eyes soft and sweet. Because Dean isn't cruel. Because Dean doesn’t question why Cas slips into the passenger seat and curls up with his head against the window.

He doesn’t ask Cas again where to take him.

But he does reach across Cas to secure the seatbelt carefully over his chest.

 _Home_ , Cas hopes. He hopes the bunker is where they will go.

 

 

 

 

Getting out of the Impala is a busy affair that Cas doesn’t expect.

Before he can reach out to open the door, Dean’s at his side, ushering him all the way to the motel door, a hand pressed to the small of his back. The motel’s not far from the Gas-N-Sip. It’s hidden amongst the other derelict buildings that surround the gas stop, opposite a strip club (did Dean go in there?) and a rundown Biggerson’s.

Cas vows to walk back.

But he can’t suppress a shiver at the memory of the last time that he did.

 

 

 

 

“Watch your arm,” Dean warns him. “That’s wrist’s pretty banged up, Cas. I’ll grab meds fro—”

“I’m fine,” Cas snaps.

But he’s not fine.

 

 

 

 

(It doesn’t matter, anyway.

Dean doesn’t believe him).

 

 

 

 

Dean ushers him to the dingy twin bed. His hand’s on Cas’ shoulder now, steering him surely as if he doesn’t think that Cas knows how to take care of himself. Dean pulls up a chair and sits across from him.

 _I survived_ , Cas wants to tell him. _I’m still living._

But Cas’ mouth won’t open no matter how hard his lips tremble.

He needs Dean’s help.

 

 

 

 

Dean’s gentle fingers undo the buttons of his shirt. They go slow, careful, and hesitant. They go so slow as if Dean’s waiting for Cas to say stop. When Dean’s eyes trace a path from his mouth to catch his eyes, Cas looks away.

Dean falters.

 

 

 

 

The skin above his naval is still deep purple with bruises. Dean’s hand gets shaky when he traces over the tenderness. His other, he grips Cas’ shoulder like a vice.

“What happened to you?”

 

 

 

 

Dean grits his teeth as he wraps Cas’ wrist.

He works quickly now—it’s not like the buttons. He’s still unfailing gentle. When Cas hisses at the pain of having his fingers straightened out for the splints, Dean’s anger melts and he runs a soothing down his back.

“Hey,” Dean says. “Almost over.”

After it’s done, Dean lets his warm hand rest over Cas’ uninjured one.

But only for a moment.

 

 

 

 

He doesn’t want to tell Dean about it. He doesn’t want to discuss it. Talking about it is the same as giving an admission of his own stupidity, his own weakness.

But maybe that’s what it means to be angel no longer.

 

 

 

 

For the first time since coming here, Dean takes a seat on the bed next to him. Dean sits close enough that their thighs press together and if Cas wanted, he could rest his head on Dean’s shoulder.

But Cas won’t do that.

That would be foolish.

And he’s learned that now.

“Tell me what’s up,” Dean says.

 

 

 

 

“I should go now,” Cas says and he moves off the bed and heads for the door. He’s fumbling with the knob, breathing panicked, and “You’re not going anywhere without your shirt,” Dean says and he steers him back to the bed, making Cas shiver when Dean’s fingers touch his skin.

Putting on his shirt is more difficult with his bandaged hand. Dean buttons him down by starting at his neck.

When he reaches the button at Cas’ navel, he stops.

“Who did this to you?”

His voice is hard.

 

 

 

 

The shower water’s ice cold but the sweat and grime on his body is enough to make him stay.

For a long time, he holds Dean’s borrowed shorts in his hands. He turns them over, feels the fabric worn soft with age. They’re favoured shorts. Slept in often because they’re comfortable and loved and maybe echo of home.

Something that Cas doesn’t have.

 

 

 

 

Dean’s on the phone when he emerges from the bathroom. His eyes rake over Cas’ bare chest and he swallows.

“Gotta go,” he tells Sam and he switches the phone off.

For a moment, Dean just looks.

Then he reaches into his duffle bag and hands him a t-shirt.

“C’mere,” he finally says. “Bed’s made.”  

 

 

 

 

2:03 a.m.

“Where will you sleep?”

Cas asks that question while Dean’s at the little table by the window. He’s going through his green duffle bag again, pulling out clothes, examining them. Dean pushes back soft shirts, newer jeans and Henleys back in. Other ratty clothes, he throws onto the chair. 

“I’ll get another room.”

 

 

 

 

 **NO VACANCY**.

 

 

 

 

“You’re fucking dreaming,” Dean tells him, “if you think I’ll let you sleep in Baby when you’re black and blue.”

“I’ve managed this whole time.”

“Sleeping on the goddamn floor isn’t managing, Cas!”

 

 

 

 

Cas sees Dean take out his wallet. He’s pulling cash out, counting it. Twenty...forty...fifty...a hundred...more money than Cas can count. More money than he’ll make in a week. But Dean stuffs it back into his wallet so angrily that it still doesn't seem to be enough.

“I don’t need your money,” Cas says. 

“Then you shouldn’t have lost it in the first place.”

 

 

 

 

“I’m—I’m sorry. It’s not your fault that you were—”

 

 

 

 

Dean’s eyes watch him as he shifts in the bed. Dean swallows every time he sees the bruises on his abdomen, the wounded wrist.

“Don’t give me any space you need, alright?” Dean tells him. “I’m good with whatever and I don’t want you cramping over that stomach if it’s gonna hurt.”

But maybe Dean instinctively knows it’s futile. Cas budges over until Dean has the perfect half of the twin bed.

It’s only when Dean slips in beside him that he realizes how little space it really is.

He turns on his side. Dean follows suit.

But it’s still not enough space to prevent them from touching.

Dean’s mouth is hot so close to Cas’ ear.

 

 

 

 

For a long time, they only dare breathe.

 

 

 

 

2:58 a.m.

The motel’s never quiet. Their proximity to the shady strip club that likes to conduct illegal business on the side doesn’t make it possible.

The door of the room next to them bangs open and shut.

The voices are loud.

The creaking of the bed maybe even louder.

 

 

 

 

It’s not until Dean tries to wiggle away that Cas realizes how comforting Dean’s warmth is against his back. How the press of Dean’s thigh against the back of his own is reassuring and steady in a time when nothing feels sure. So maybe it’s wrong when he tries to regain Dean’s touch by shuffling back into him.

Dean’s breath hitches in his throat.

Dean’s length is hard and throbbing against Cas’ backside.

 

 

 

 

They don’t say anything to each other.

Dean doesn’t move.

The woman in the other room begs the man to go faster, to not stop.

 

 

 

 

Dean’s hands aren’t sure. Dean’s right hand tentatively reaches out and touches Cas’ lower thigh. It runs up along him until Dean drapes it loosely over his waist, wary to touch the bruise on his stomach.

But still, Dean asks.

“Am I hurting you?”

 

 

 

 

Cas shudders when Dean kisses the back of his neck.

 

 

 

 

“Do you…” Dean starts.

 

 

 

 

Dean’s fingers rub little circles on the skin of Cas’ hip. When he dips them down underneath the waistband of his shorts, Cas forgets to breathe.

But Dean’s hand doesn’t go any further.

 

 

 

 

He doesn’t know when but sometime in the last few minutes, he went deaf to the sound of their loud neighbours.

He can’t hear the woman’s cries. His own heartbeat becomes louder than that. Every quickening sound of his own pumping blood seems to accompany the way that Dean moves his body. Dean starts to roll his hips, lets his clothed cock rub against the cleft of Cas’ ass while Cas pants wildly and squeezes his eyes shut.

Dean’s fingers under the waistband of his shorts get braver. They wrap around his length. When Dean thumbs the slit, Cas bucks back into Dean’s cock with a whine.

“Dean,” he manages to say. “Dean…don’t…”

The abruptness of Dean’s sudden stillness confuses him. Dean freezes behind him, fingers instantly withdrawn and then he’s scrambling off the bed.

“You don’t want—”

“Don’t stop,” Cas says.

 

 

 

 

Cas groans under Dean’s hand. Dean strokes him, practiced and firm inside his shorts. Every tug on his cock causes Cas to arch up and it doesn’t matter that the bruise makes the muscles of his abdomen ache—the ache that Dean manages to create inside him hurts a thousand times more.

 

 

 

 

It doesn’t take long.

He’s inexperienced and the feel of Dean’s mouth on his ear is enough. When Dean encourages him with a throaty, “C’mon, baby,” he convulses into the palm of Dean’s hand with a whimper.

Dean kisses him hungrily after that.

 

 

 

 

“Dean, you can—”

But Dean presses his mouth to Cas’ lips and cuts him off.

“I just wanna hold you.”

 

 

 

 

For a long time, they lie still together and for a long time, Cas fights sleep.

Three in the morning.

It’s not enough time.

 

 

 

 

3:37 a.m.

Dean shifts behind him. Dean kisses his hair.

Dean’s not asleep either.

 

 

 

 

3:38 a.m.

Maybe it had been like a wound.

Maybe Cas’ bitterness had festered like an infection and maybe it wouldn’t have happened if he hadn’t been mugged within three days of becoming gas attendant Steve.

Three nights. Three nights had been all that he had had in the motel room that Dean had set him up in across town. Not cheap like the one that Dean was in now. Dean hadn’t treated him like that. Money and a credit card had been shoved into his hands. A friend of a friend of a friend had found the job at the Gas-N-Sip and persuaded Nora to give him a chance. The clothes on his back had come from Dean’s closet. And then, even more money, more money to “give yourself a shopping spree, Cas,” and, “You need more clothes than that.”

Cas had wanted to wait for the weekend.

 

 

 

 

He does eventually fall asleep.

It’s when he’s staring at the clock on the wall across from him, when he thinks that he won’t sleep now because he has to be at the store in an hour, that’s when he falls asleep.

4:02 a.m.

 

 

 

 

4:29 a.m.

He wakes up.

He doesn’t want to be late.

Dean’s snoring into the crook of his neck. He wakes up when Cas tries to disentangle himself from his arms.

Dean looks confused when he sees Cas next to him.

But maybe he’s just too used to expecting a woman.

 

 

 

 

“C’mon,” Dean says, just as the racket from the woman and the man next door starts up again.

Loud, loud moans.

 

 

 

 

They take a shower together. Cas doesn’t know why he’s hard again. Why his cheeks are flushed red and why he’s panting when all Dean does is massage soap into his tired shoulders.

But he goes unbidden to his knees.

He sinks to the floor of the tub filled with desire.

When he takes Dean into his mouth, Dean throws his head back against the dirty tiled wall and moans.

 

 

 

 

It’s 4:58 and Cas should be at work in two minutes to open the door.

He swore that he would walk.

But now he’s late and Dean says, “I gotta go, anyway,” so he waits until they can start up the Impala.

Dean rushes back and forth, picking up his discarded clothes from the chair, slipping his gun into the hidden holster under his shirt, and finally, he grabs the green duffle that Cas had hoped that he would forget.

Cas reaches for the doorknob but there’s a dull thumping sound then as Dean drops everything in his arms onto the floor.

He stares at Cas with an indecipherable look in his eyes.

Then he crowds Cas up against the door and kisses him hard.

 

 

 

 

Sometimes when he thinks about it, he can still feel the pain.

The kicks to his stomach while he had been robbed. The feel of the leftover fifty dollar bill that had fluttered down and grazed his cheek when his attacker had fled.

His cell phone had been spared.

He should have called Dean.

But asking for more money because he had lost what had been given to him had made him feel more ill than the blows that he had just suffered. Asking for more of Dean when Dean hadn’t even wanted him to stay at the bunker after five years of comradery and friendship had felt like a slap to the face.

Maybe Cas had mistaken something else for friendship.

Or maybe it had been the sick, sick disgust of it all.

The coppery taste in his mouth.

The sheering pain in his stomach.

The way that he had gasped for air.

Human.

(Weak).

 

 

 

 

Dean won’t let him go.

It’s 5:02 a.m. and Dean’s kisses are more and more desperate.

It’s as if he thinks that if they open the door to the outside world, all of this will go away.

(But maybe he’s right).

 

 

 

 

The woman and man from next door don’t notice him right away. He’s standing off to the side, waiting for Dean to return the key to the front desk, and maybe that’s why they do it out in the open.

The man pulls out his wallet. The woman takes the payment.

The man leaves and the woman is left standing.

She looks at Cas when she realizes that she’s not alone.

 

 

 

 

5:13 a.m.

“Dean, are you almost done? The store opens at six.”

Dean’s voice crackles reassurances over the phone.

 

 

 

 

Standing so close to her makes Cas uncomfortable.

The woman shifts her weight from one foot to the other.

Whomever she’s waiting for, they’re late.

 

 

 

 

Dean walks quickly to him. He glances at the woman and Cas feels something tighten in his chest.

But it’s not a friendly look.

It’s not a wanting look.

It’s avoidance.

 

 

 

 

It’s those eyes again. Dean’s eyes.           

Now it’s Cas who wants to kiss him hard.

But when he presses a hand to Dean’s waist, Dean stiffens.

 _Not here_ , Dean’s body says.

Or maybe, _not ever again_.

Whatever it was, it’s over.

 

 

 

 

The woman’s eyes widen, just a bit, not enough for many to notice, but Cas has been unable to draw his own gaze away from hers, so he doesn’t miss the reaction.

There are thoughts running through her head. Cas can see them zipping in the emotions that flash across her face. Maybe it’s because she’s not used to seeing two men, not when the strip club across the street only features women dancers. Or maybe it’s because the money that Dean takes out of his wallet and presses into Cas’ hands is more than she charges for a single transaction.

It doesn’t matter that Cas isn’t what she thinks. It doesn’t matter that the money that Dean gives him—the money that he doesn’t want but needs so badly anyway—isn’t for the night that they spent together.

Cas’ face burns with shame all the same.

 

 

 

 

Outside the Gas-N-Sip, he tries one last time to mend things. He wonders aloud if he can sit out a civil war of angels. Every beat of his heart is time that he tries to tell Dean with his eyes that he wants to go home, that he wants Dean to tell him that the money that's burning in his front pocket isn’t payment for his warm body (because he's starting to have doubts).  

But _You’re human now_ , Dean reminds him.

_It’s not your problem anymore._

**Author's Note:**

> Well, that's it! Thank you very much for reading and of course, comments and kudos are always appreciated if you've got the time. Other than that, if you'd like, you can visit me on Tumblr [here](http://60r3d0m.tumblr.com) :)


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